


wildfires

by astarisms



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, I was awake until 7am finishing it, Shameless PWP, it’ll be a cold day in hell before dara tops in one of my fics, lots of fire references bc I can’t control myself, the vibe’s kind of all over the place please forgive me, you’re welcome :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astarisms/pseuds/astarisms
Summary: he will burn her, she knows, set her ablaze until she’s nothing more than light and heat, and she is nearly undone at just the thought.
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afshin/Nahri
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	wildfires

“ _ Dara _ ,” Nahri gasps, because his name is the only thought that’s not shattered by him, the only word that tumbles from her lips halfway coherent. 

He has barely touched her yet, but his fingers skim the bare skin of her waist, forging a scalding trail that leaves her breathless. The effect his name has on her tongue is immediate, and he falters, tearing his head from her throat to press against the curve of her shoulder with a low groan, gripping her hips and pulling them hard into his own. 

The heat, the weight, the pressure of him against her is enough to make her toes curl, and the sound that rips out of her is ragged.

She curls the fingers of one hand into his thick hair and turns her head to press a kiss against his temple, her other twisting into the fabric of his shirt at his back, dragging it up. He leaves his own kisses along her shoulder, pulling her sleeve out of his way, and composes himself enough to rock his hips shallowly against her.

Nahri moans, shivering even though it’s too hot and there’s still layers of clothes separating them. She manages to wrest his shirt from him, and she weaves her fingers back into his hair once he’s free of its confines, pulling his lips back to hers again. 

There’s a part of her that’s writhing, impatient and desperate for there to be little else between them, to feel the heat of his skin against hers and the press of him inside of her, but there’s another part of her that urges her to wait. 

It’s rare that she gets to enjoy Dara like this, with this heady passion that’s built up between them, something that toes the line between explosive and savory. She kisses him slowly, deeply, taking her time with the mouth she knows so intimately, as if to learn it all over again, but there’s a hunger in it that threatens to consume them both if they’re not careful.

She gets his approval in his throaty groan, in the way his hips stutter against hers, and she drapes her legs around his waist, digging her heels into the small of his back to urge him back into his rhythm, even as she feels herself falter in satisfied pleasure. He will burn her, she knows, set her ablaze until she’s nothing more than light and heat, and she’s nearly undone at just the thought. 

But Nahri only drags his lower lip between her teeth, pulling back from him with a coy smile, the sound that tears from him settling low in her stomach, making her feel as molten as his eyes look when he opens them to meet her gaze. 

“You will be the death of me,” he whispers raggedly, with conviction, and Nahri’s grin only widens as she grabs his shoulder and rolls them over, until she’s settled astride him. 

“You should be so lucky,” she teases, shifting to align their hips again. They both shiver, but Nahri forces her eyes open, wanting to watch him. She is burning, but gooseflesh still pebbles her skin when she finds him doing the same. His hands slip under her tunic, pushing it up until she grabs the edge and pulls it over her head, shaking her hair out. 

His breath leaves him all at once. She feels the rush of it against her newly bared skin, and, as if he’d been breathing life into the first sparks of a fire, she ignites.

She leans down to kiss him again, and it’s his hands tangling in her hair this time, pulling her into him until they’re chest to chest. Nahri traces his ribs, the pulse in his throat, the spot along his side that makes him jerk with a sound caught between a laugh and a moan. She smiles again against his lips, her chest tightening. 

Oh, she would be the death of him, but he would be her ruin. 

He breaks the kiss first, in favor of trailing more down her neck, one hand fisting in the hair at the base of her head while the other smooths over her shoulder and down her back, counts her ribs in turn. She arches into him, letting him do as he pleases because it is so exquisite, to be desired by him, to be worshipped with hands and lips that have dedicated so much time to discovering the things that make her fall apart. 

But then his fingers close over her hip, forcing her still, and she aches with the absence of that delicious friction between them. She draws away from him, arching an eyebrow when she sees his eyes are bright with intention, though the crease between his own brows tells her it was no easier for him to stop her.

“I want to try something,” he says, and Nahri feels another piece of herself unravel already. Her stomach clenches in anticipation and she wonders if he knows the extent of the effect he has on her. 

“Oh?” she manages, her lips curling at the corners, her fingers dancing over the bare stretch of his torso. “What did you have in mind?”

She swears he’s blushing, even if the dim light makes it hard to tell, but he doesn’t waver. He tugs at the waistband of her loose trousers, meeting her eyes. 

“It would be easier to show you, once these come off.” 

Nahri leans back, pushing her hair back over her shoulders as she looks down at him, adopting the imperious air her birthright gave her. 

“Then why don’t you come take them off me, Afshin?” 

He groans, sitting up so quickly she might have tumbled from his lap had he not brought his thighs up to brace her. Nahri takes his face in her hands, guiding his hungry lips back to hers as she brings her legs forward to rest around him. He slips his fingers into her pants again, making quick work of them until she’s naked in his lap.

His hands are everywhere. She feels the tremor of them against her skin, and she struggles to keep her voice even when she tells him that she’s waiting. In truth, she fears that she’s going to lose herself in him before they even begin with the way her body reacts to even the barest of his caresses. 

But at her words, he grips her thighs and collapses onto his back again, pulling her with him until she’s straddling his stomach instead. She catches herself on his chest, surprised.

“What are you—“

“I want to taste you.”

Nahri stops, surprised at his bluntness, though her body is very much a fan, if the slickness between her thighs is anything to go by. She shifts on top of him, and his eyes darken with an alarming speed when he feels her arousal against him.

It’s a testament to her own strength, how fiercely she denies the urge to come undone at such a look alone. 

But they had never done such an act in this position. For only a moment, Nahri hesitates, wondering if she is interpreting his intention correctly.

“You want me to—“

He nods before she can finish, reaching for her hand and threading their fingers together, before using it to tug her further up his body. 

The thrill that runs through her is electric as she makes her ascent, resting her knees on either side of his head, careful not to catch his hair. But Dara has no such qualms, slipping his arms through her thighs the moment she’s above him and pulling her down until she meets his mouth. 

She gasps, throwing her head back. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, because for as many times as he’d been between her thighs, it was never like  _ this _ . Never in a way that opened her up so completely for him, so she could feel every little movement while he devoured her so thoroughly. 

His tongue — that wicked, wonderful tongue — takes her apart. She reaches out, bracing one hand on the wall as the other drops to tangle in his hair, and she’s drawn to the sight of him beneath her, his beautiful eyes half closed, brow creased in concentration. 

And pleasure, if the way he hums and groans against her is any indication. 

He delves into her and she’s unable to help the way her body jolts, rocking against him with a wild moan. His fingers tighten on her thighs, and he looks up at her, locking eyes with her and urging her again, pointedly thrusting his tongue deeper inside. 

It’s all too much. 

Her breath hitches, and then she comes apart with a cry, unraveling in ecstasy, curling over his head. But Dara doesn’t relinquish his grip on her, nor does he relieve her of his eager mouth. Nahri keens as he prolongs her orgasm, her hips meeting each thrust of his tongue without her consent. Her hand tightens desperately in his hair, her thighs trembling around his ears, and still he does not grant her mercy. 

Instead, he pulls back, and before she can even draw in a shuddering breath, he takes her clit between his teeth and sucks. She arches, her moan lost in the pillow she’s buried her face in, as he brings her to a second climax that burns through her with all the force of a wildfire, powerful and unyielding. 

It leaves her skin prickling with sparks, smoldering embers that leave her warm all over. He’s languidly exploring the insides of her thighs now, drinking her in while she catches her breath, and she shivers before forcing herself upright again. She grabs his hands and pulls them away from her, and he locks their fingers together again, giving her the solid wall of his strength to brace herself against so she can maneuver herself back down. 

She settles on his stomach once more, finally looking up at him. Her eyes catch on the hair she’d mussed, on the way his chin glistens wetly in the low light, on the eyes that watch her every movement carefully, waiting for the verdict of his boldness. 

He licks his lips, as an afterthought, and Nahri clenches emptily at the sight. Creator, he looks like sin, tempting and blasphemous and beautiful.

“Horrible man,” she says without bite, and he smiles, that dazzling curve of his lips reserved just for her. She squeezes his hands before letting them go, and shifts back, reaching for his trousers. “It’s hardly fair you’re still clothed while I’m completely naked.”

“My apologies, Banu Nahida,” he says, an undercurrent of amusement in his voice. He sits up again and together they manage to rid him of the fabric. Nahri bites her lip coyly, shifting purposefully against him at the sight of all of him. His jaw loosens, his eyes fluttering, all joking matters forgotten.

How she loves to watch him stumble.

“Suleiman’s eye,” he whispers hoarsely, dropping his hands to her hips. She reaches for the length of him, hot and silky and hard, and he jumps against her palm. 

“My apologies, Afshin,” she murmurs, teasing him even as she raises up and guides him inside of her. They both moan raggedly, though Nahri pauses when she’s full of him, their hips flush against each other. 

“ _ Nahri _ .” Her name is barely discernible, torn from his throat, both a prayer and a plea. She situates herself more comfortably on him, and he hisses through his teeth, his fingers digging into her skin, searing her all the way through.

She gives in, rising just enough so she can drop down again and feel him press against all the right places. Already the fire is building in her again, too hot, too quickly, but she smothers it, taking his lips again and tasting herself on his tongue. 

He thrusts up against her, desperate, and Nahri falters at the way they grind together. He groans again, deep and low, and she tightens around him involuntarily, her body eager for him in a way she tries to caution her mind against. 

“Nahri,” he begs again against her mouth, brokenly, and it undoes her. She moves, letting his hands assist in guiding her hips over him, clutching at the back of his neck and his shoulders until the heat between them raises to a fever pitch.

She breaks their kiss, burying her face in his neck, and he drops his to her shoulder. Nahri keens in his ear, and though she doesn’t hear him, she feels the rumble against her chest. 

And then she is ablaze. 

Tightening her thighs against his, Nahri loses herself to ecstasy once more, burning from the inside out, the flames engulfing her until there’s nothing left but a sated, blissful warmth. Dara is not far behind, his peak spurred by hers, and they fall into each other when it’s over, chests heaving.

But Nahri cannot pass up an opportunity to redden her Afshin, so after a minute she smiles to herself where he can’t see with her head tucked beneath his chin, and asks, “where did you get the idea for that little stunt?” 

Dara chokes, a sound that almost but not quite resembles a laugh, and Nahri cackles unrepentantly.

“Well, Afshin?” she prompts, propping herself up on her elbow to see his cheeks have, in fact, adopted a very attractive blush. 

“An Afshin can’t reveal all his secrets, can he?” he manages, amused and a touch embarrassed, and Nahri scoffs, slapping his chest lightly.

“That’s magicians, you oaf,” she says laughingly, and he gives her another brilliant smile, tugging her back against him.

“Am I not magical? Do I not possess magic beyond your human  _ magician _ ’s wildest dreams?” 

Nahri considers this as she tucks herself back into his chest and relaxes.

“No,” she finally concedes, a sly edge to her voice. “Magicians are far more impressive.”


End file.
